


you're not where you belong (inside my arms)

by theagonyofblank



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2010-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens two weeks and four days after Ron has left them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're not where you belong (inside my arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hyacinthian, for the [harry potter non-canon ships comment ficathon](http://anythingbutgrey.livejournal.com/774727.html). Prompt was, " _then just when we believed we could be great, reality it permeates and conquers from within again_ ".

It happens two weeks and four days after Ron has left them.

There’s barely any contact at all –

just her chapped lips against his,

his hands fisted in her shirt –

and then it’s over, it’s over, and _it’s nothing at all._

She pulls away first, but they don’t talk about that.

They don’t talk about it at all.

 

He’s cold and drenched and she’s staring at him and he just wants her to _stop_.

“He saw—he saw us _together_.”

He looks away as the words leave his mouth.

The images flash through his mind again—

 _herandhimandkissingandkissing_

—and he thinks of his best friend, his best friend who took the sword to the locket.

He looks back at her.

“We’re- we’re not—”

“I know.”

His words ring hollow in the woods.

 

He lies still against the leaves.

He can hear his heartbeat, the blood rushing through his veins.

He keeps his eyes closed.

 _Don’t check don’t check—_

Feels a hand near his heart.

When he is pronounced dead, all he can think of is _her_.

 _He’ll see this through._

 

He sees them amidst the rubble.

They’re kissing, a celebration for the end of the war.

He looks away.

Reminds himself they’ve _won_.

 

Five months after the war,

five months of a fresh start.

Five months of conversations over coffeelunchdinner,

and they’re back at square one.

 

The air is crisp and the leaves are golden.

He sits next to her, legs stretched out on the grass.

“So,” he begins.

She glances his way.

“So,” he tries again, “You and Ron.”

She shrugs.

Her lips curve into a smile, but her eyes remain serious.

“So,” she mimics him, tone subdued, “You and Ginny.”

He sighs, closes his eyes.

“Yeah.”

 

He sees her at the wedding.

“You look—”

“Thanks.”

“Hermione—”

“Harry, don’t—”

He presses his lips to hers,

and suddenly he’s in those woods, seventeen again,

 

but this time, he turns away first.

 

He still sees her, from time to time.

They talk about everything and nothing,

their work, their kids, Ginny, Ron.

Sometimes, he lets his hand linger a second too long.

And for a moment, he’ll wonder what they could have been.

But then she smiles at him, touches his arm, and he remembers.

 

 

 _They’re Harry and Hermione._

 

 

-


End file.
